


Small Things

by ladyoneill



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, Gen, Post Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-17
Updated: 2004-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late Season 6 if there was one</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roseveare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseveare/gifts).



She sat still as a statue in the little courtyard garden at the center of Wolfram & Hart. There were flowers--the memories of the former resident of her body named them tulips, iris, hyacinths--and a pond with little orange fish in it--koi.

The breeze that blew was warm. The seasons had changed once again, and, although there was never much difference from one to the next, she could tell.

It was the time of rebirth and growing things. It was the season for mating.

The previous spring she'd been too new to this world to notice the change of seasons, and when summer came, it was so subtle that she almost missed it. In her experience seasons, like everything else, changed with violence of cataclysmic proportions. Entire continents had risen and fallen in the uproar of change.

Here flowers bloomed.

Like everything, Spring came gently with barely any notice. A small thing.

Even after a year she still struggled to accept how small everything was. Small and insignificant.

As she was in too many ways.

In the past year so much had happened, so many changes had occurred--the great reduction of her powers, the battle over Wolfram & Hart, the so-called apocalypse which was still occurring. There had been deaths and births, victories and losses, but none of it really mattered. Her companions celebrated and mourned, but she found it difficult to join them.

Again those events were all so small.

It was a difficult adjustment to go from ruling universes to barely ruling ones own form, and she wondered, as she often did, if she would ever become completely comfortable in this body and this world.

To her sorrow, she feared she never would.

And yet she continued. There was no point in doing so, but neither was there one in ending her existence and returning to the Deeper Well. She found battles here to occupy her time, and a lover to give her pleasure, but there was often little challenge. To find it, she had to reduce her expectations, and, over time, she found it became less of an annoyance to do so.

She was adapting and in doing so, slowly changing her perceptions of the world and her place in it.

Still Illyria, she was no longer God-King, and while at times she feared that very thought would drive her mad, gradually she'd begun to look for something else to be.

There was tranquility here in this garden. She had never known tranquility and it was a strange state of being, but no longer an unwelcome one. She needed to fill her days and nights, and there were only so many battles, and her lover, although a vampire, wore out too easily.

The others joked about her communing with nature, but it wasn't that. The plants, the insects and fish and animals, they were closer to what she had been than humans would ever be. They were a part of the natural order of the world. In her time plants and insects and fish and animals had existed to serve the gods and they'd known their places. They'd performed their required function whether it be decoration or food.

They had not argued with and mocked their better. In some ways, they continued to revere her.

It was a reverence she needed, though, again, a small thing.

She sat in the garden until the sun began to set and the breeze turned cool. The birds ceased their chorus, and the insects began theirs.

"Thought I'd find you here."

The sound of a match, the aroma of burning sulfur then that of tobacco, momentarily smothered that of the flowers. Both were pleasing to her. She didn't turn, but finally moved slightly, one hand coming to rest momentarily on the stone bench beside her.

Spike grinned, knowing that was about as close as she was likely to come to ask him to join her in any place but a battle or bed, and took the place of her hand which she returned to her lap. He gazed at her for a long moment, then turned to look over the small garden.

"What do you look for out here?"

She took a while to answer, and, when she did, her voice was soft and devoid of emotion. "Something familiar."

"Do you find it?"

"Not often."

"Still looking for that solid ground to stand on, luv? You're not going to find it. You'll have to make do with what's here, just like the rest of us."

"So you tell me. Over and over again." Blue gold eyes flickered up to his own changeable ones. "I am adapting, changing. I do not like it."

"It's inevitable."

"Like the changing of the seasons," she murmured, once again focusing her attention on the fish flittering about beneath the serene surface of the water. "Like the turning of the world and night following day. Everything regimented, yet everything chaotic. My world was so much simpler."

"Simple is boring." Spike pulled on his cigarette almost angrily. This was an old and familiar complaint of hers, though, true, she rarely expressed it these days.

"Yes." There was sorrow in her voice, and Spike shot her a look. Something that came more often from her was true emotion, usually of the dark and angry variety, but this sorrow was real.

Illyria mourned the loss of her world, and he could understand that. Sometimes he missed how easy things had been without a soul. He and Dru storming across the planet, killing and maiming and fucking each other blind. No regrets, no worries, no thought of tomorrow outside of whom they might eat next.

But it had been a year, and like all things she needed to move on. He could see she was trying, taking little, faltering baby steps, and he tried to be patient with her. It really wasn't in his nature, though. More often he ignored her whining and cajoled her into going out and finding something to beat on.

"Night's come. Evil's slipping out of its lairs and into the streets. Want to go find something to kill and maybe wrap the evening up with some buffalo wings and beer?"

"That is how we spend most every night."

"Well, we could skip right to the shagging." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she narrowed her eyes.

"Again, how we spend most every night."

"So, what do you want to do?"

Illyria thought for a moment, then cocked her head to listen to the sounds of the night. "Will you walk with me?"

"Sure," Spike replied, shrugging his shoulders, amenable to almost anything that got them out of this really dull garden. Rising to his feet, he reached for her and she placed her hand in his. He considered that progress. It hadn't been so many months ago that the only touch she would allow him was either blocking her blows or holding on as she rode him like a racehorse.

Hand in hand, the former God-King and former Big Bad strolled into the night.

When they hit the streets, Illyria morphed her body into that of Fred. It didn't bother Spike like it did the others in their dysfunctional little family. He knew Fred was gone forever, and he could see past the facade to what lay beneath. It was convenient for her to look human when they were in public and so she did.

She no longer ever sounded like Fred, which also helped him accept her in this form, and her scent was unique. No cinnamon and daisies like Fred, but copper and lavender and dust.

Spike preferred her new scent. Both his previous loves had smelled of copper and dust--blood and death. Scent was a powerful tool of attraction and was one of several that drew mates together. He wondered what he smelled like to her.

And he wondered, as he often did, why she'd chosen him of all the men and women available.

They crossed the street against the light, ignoring the honking of horns and waving of fists. Not much could do them permanent damage and Illyria liked to break the rules. Spike didn't mind either. Walking in companionable silence they passed a sidewalk caf‚, a few open stores, a newsstand, all busy with people. Illyria ignored them all, eyes focused on the distance. If you truly looked at her, you could tell she wasn't human.

She rarely blinked.

Suddenly she stopped in front of a closed boutique and turned to look at the window display of frilly, pretty dresses. Cocking her head to the side she examined each one in turn, then pointed to a more simple red silk one. "I want that one."

"Store's closed, luv."

"I want that one."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You have to wait 'til tomorrow when the store's open." He read the sign on the door. "Come back at 10:00 in the morning, bring the company credit card, be polite, don't kill anyone."

"Silly rules," Illyria growled. "I grow weary of them. Too many to remember. All inane and useless."

"Not useless, pet. They keep civilization running."

She snorted and started down the street again, no longer holding his hand. Spike jogged to catch up with her long-legged stride and took her hand again. Illyria yanked it free with a hiss.

"Don't presume."

Spike stared at her, not because she didn't want him touching her. "You used a contraction."

"I told you I am...I'm adapting." She whirled around and crossed another street, Spike on her heels. "I don't like it," he could hear her muttering to herself. "I'm losing myself, changing into something new. Growing into this weak shell. I fear it will consume me."

"Illyria...luv...it's not a bad thing," he said softly, moving in front of her to stop her progress.

She looked up at him with deeply troubled eyes, the gold shining through the brown of Fred's. "Demons do not change. We are not meant to grow and expand. We are not Spring." At his look of confusion, she continued, her voice sad and low. "Spring is a time of change and new beginnings, of growth and revival. None of that should mean anything to demons, yet I can feel the evolution inside me. I am growing...blossoming."

"Again, not a bad thing. When you took over a human form you became more than a demon, more than just one of the Old Ones. I've always seen it. It's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," she scoffed, her eyes narrowing angrily.

Spike grinned. "Fear's also quite natural."

"You are angering me."

He just kept grinning until she snarled, huffed and spun around to head down an alley. Spike strolled behind her, letting her pace off her mad, until he caught the scent of something not nice in a doorway just ahead of her.

"Pet..."

The warning was unnecessary. Illyria transformed into her true self, the armor returning, a sword swinging from her hip. She was still strong, but no longer as deadly as she had been prior to the necessary reduction of her power, so she'd learned to use weapons. Her favorite was a kitana, and she proved her competency with it as she quickly beheaded the first demon that leapt from the darkened doorway.

Spike didn't recognize the species, but he could smell the spilt human blood and hear the fading of a heart. They were too late to save the person the demons had killed, but he was getting very good at vengeance.

Four more demons--big, bulky, with scales for skin and glowing green eyes-- burst from the building and attacked.

Grabbing one around the throat, Spike quickly snapped its neck, then stepped back to watch as the other three circled Illyria. He thought briefly about intervening, but as she swung her sword and whirled to attack, he stepped back and lit another cigarette while he admired her dance. She caught one of the demons a blow across the shoulder making him howl, then twirled and stabbed a second through the stomach before bringing up the sword and hacking it down through the brain of the third. As it dropped dead and oozing blue blood, the other two jumped her together.

"You could help me," she barked, punching the stab victim in the wound and tearing out its guts.

"You look like you're doing just fine by yourself," Spike called back, dragging in the nicotine that heightened his senses.

Demon two fell at her feet and the final one decided to take off rather than face her. Spike stuck out his foot and tripped it, and Illyria jumped on its back and used the sword like a knife to slit its throat.

Sneering down at the final demon as she rose to her feet, she wiped the blade of her sword on its tattered shirt. "Not at all a challenge." She turned her head towards the doorway and the sneer disappeared from her voice. "The human is dead."

"Yeah, we can't save them all." He waited for some snarky comment along the lines of 'I don't want to save any of them', but it didn't come. Illyria resheathed her sword and made it disappear into her form, then turned to him. Her eyes glowed and her face was troubled.

"It was young. A female. Like this body. Innocent of evil and unaware of what lurks in the shadows. There are too many like her in this world. They should be taught of the evils." She gave a mirthless laugh. "Once I would have been at the top of the list, and yet here I am avenging their deaths." She shook her head slightly. "Amazing that boredom has led me to this, a champion of sorts for squalling mortals."

"Ditto."

She took a step towards him, then pounced, pushing him against the wall opposite the doorway where the dead human girl lay in a pool of her own blood. Illyria's lips, cool and harder than a human's, pressed against Spike's and his parted to allow her access. He tasted death on her tongue, and his demon growled lustily deep inside him. His arms went around her and she slid between his parted legs, deepening the kiss. When his hands cupped her hips, she ground against him and pulled back from the kiss to lick at his lips.

"This need after battle to prove one is alive..." A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. "I like it."

"Maybe we should go back to..." he began only to be interrupted by her hand slipping inside his jean, and he groaned helplessly. "Illyria."

"Here. It is dark enough, secluded enough." A dumpster blocked them from the brighter end of the alley, and there were scattered crates and a parked car near the other end. "Don't tell me you're worried about getting caught," she purred, lapping her way across his face to one ear as her hand began to caress him.

With a groan, Spike gave up and spun her around to put her back to the wall. She clawed at it, clawed at him, and their mating was quick and furiously intense. Spike smothered her cries with his mouth and took them both over the edge.

"And something new unfolds within me," Illyria murmured much later as they lay on the hood of the parked car, her head on his extended arm as the smoke from yet another cigarette spun over their faces. "Did you know that today is the vernal equinox?"

"First day of Spring? Yeah."

"Does it mean anything anymore?"

"Well, not to many, I suppose. Food's grown year round and very few people, at least in the Western world rely on the growing season to keep them alive. What did it mean to you?"

"...Nothing. Plants grew and withered at my command." She sighed softly. "The sun crossing the equator, dividing the world in half, that led to battles and ritual slaughters. Bloodbaths to feed the world and to feed us."

"There are still rituals."

"The slaughter of the lamb," she snorted. "Trivial."

"Tell that to a billion or so Christians," he replied lightly.

"That people worship something they cannot see, have never seen, baffles me most of all. I understood the worship of my followers. I was there, delivering vengeance and benevolence upon them. A physical being for them to revere and fear."

Spike let her ramble. It never did any good to try to convince her that this world had its benefits. Inevitably she discovered that for herself or lived with the disappointment.

Illyria fell silent and turned her face into his chest, a tender move that surprised him. Tenderness wasn't something they shared very often. Flicking away his cigarette butt, Spike curled his hand up around her shoulder, and felt the armor turn to silk. He glanced at her, saw she remained Illyria, but she wore a replica of the dress she'd seen in the window.

"It's not the same," she said before he could ask why she wanted the dress when she could do this. "This is simply a memory."

"Feels real."

"I will purchase the original tomorrow and wear it for dinner tomorrow night."

"...Dinner?"

"Another blossoming, albite a small thing. I wish to go on a date as so many of our coworkers chatter about endlessly. I am...I'm stuck in this world, changing to fit into it. If I don't embrace that I fear I will go mad." She flicked a small smile his way. "You wouldn't like me mad."

"Dunno, kind of used to mad women."

"That is why you have always been here for me. You understand me. The others, they fear me, they mourn her, they don't understand how hard it is for me, as they see only how hard it is for themselves. Even after a year."

"They're changing too, Illyria, accepting you."

"But you always did. You accept the growth as well as the stagnation. There is more to you than leather and tobacco and brute force and brash attitude, Spike."

"Yeah? What do you see in me, luv?"

"The poet beneath the skin." Her hand trailed over his chest, slipping between the buttons of his shirt to feel his cool flesh. "You have blossomed as well, even in the dark of night. Spring has found us both."

As she caressed him, a memory flashed into Spike's mind, and he began to murmur.

"For winter's rains and ruins are over,  
And all the season of snows and sins;  
The days dividing lover and lover,  
The light that loses, the night that wins;  
And time remembered is grief forgotten,  
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,  
And in green underwood and cover  
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

Illyria lay there silent for several minutes, then asked, "What is that?"

"A poem from my childhood. One of my mother's favorites. She had me memorize it and recite it every Easter. I'd forgotten."

"Are we the night that wins, William?"

"We seem to be." He grinned down at her. "And don't call me William."

"That's such a small thing." She smiled back up at him. "But I'm beginning to realize they're the things that truly matter."

End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ~ Roseveare in the Angel Book of Days Spring Challenge. Prompt: Illyria, Genre ~ Free Rein  
> ~ Plenty of actual Illyria involvement rather than just Wes-musing-on kind of thing
> 
> Author's notes ~ The poem is Atalanta in Calydon by Algernon Charles Swinburne. Sorry for the tardiness, and thanks for giving me so much free rein. I love writing Illyria. This was written before the end of the series and I was unspoiled, so really quite AU.


End file.
